The Intruder
by r4ven3
Summary: Ruth comes home late from a conference, and is surprised by what she finds. 5 chapters of AU nonsense of the HR variety. Set late in Series 8. Not to be taken too seriously.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This story is set late in S.8, after the death of Jo, but before the death of Ros. Totally AU/fantasy-land, which is all I have left. **_

_**Kudos own the characters herein, while I own this particular fantasy, which I'm sure I share with many of you.**_

* * *

Ruth had been in that pleasant state between waking and sleeping for most of the journey in the taxi on her way home from the four-day GCHQ conference at Havensworth. She'd presented two talks – one on creating flexible and user-friendly software for interpreting coded language, and the other on the value of technical support to analysts in the intelligence service - and she had had to present each talk twice over the span of four days. On her first night there, she'd revisited the corridor where, on their first night at Havensworth over three years ago, she and Harry had had their `moment'. She'd chosen the same time – 11.20 pm – as she quietly stood in the same spot she'd stood then, barely able to look at Harry, his eyes hungry and needy, his intent, his desire for her clear. It was just an empty corridor, quiet this time, but she was sure she felt the ghost of what-had-never-been, and she felt sad and frustrated and angry all over again …... only this time she was angry with herself for not having been braver. Back then she hadn't known that she and Harry had only a few short weeks left before she'd have to leave. It was always going to be difficult with Harry, and ever since she'd returned to work after George's death, he'd been so distant, the complete professional, and she didn't know how to cross that great divide between them.

She'd been about to leave, to catch the train back to London, when Damien Flynn had collared her and begged to buy her dinner in exchange for a taxi ride back home. She'd rather have taken the train, and not had to listen to Damien's bluster about `the efficiency, effectiveness and importance of GCHQ in the new millenium', and how Ruth's experience in what he'd called `the deep and dirty pond that is MI5' would stand her in good stead for a managerial position at GCHQ. She thanked him for dinner, told him she'd think about it (she wouldn't – what was there to think about?), and she accepted the cab voucher he'd given her to pay for the trip home.

Ruth dragged her bag behind her into her flat. She hadn't immediately noticed anything different, but as she struggled down the hallway to the kitchen, she felt the hairs rise on her arms and the back of her neck. Instinctively, she knew that something was different …... not _wrong_ necessarily, but definitely her flat felt different to her, like someone had entered it while she was away, and given it a spring-cleaning. Her living space smelled strange …... but not unpleasant, although she couldn't place _exactly_ what it was she was sensing.

All she wanted to do was to make herself a cup of tea, and then fall into bed, and hopefully sleep for at least twelve hours. She had two days in which to catch up on sleep before she had to be back on the Grid. She left her bag on the floor beside the sofa, and in the kitchen she boiled the kettle, and made herself a quick cup of tea. Taking the cup through to her dining table in the annexe just off the kitchen, she sighed as she sat down and took a sip, her elbows on the table, her cup resting between her hands.

Then she saw it. A jacket hanging over the back of one of the chairs. Ruth's heart began thumping …... fast. She had an intruder ….. a male intruder …. (although she also recognised that any man who meant her harm, would not announce their presence by leaving clothing lying around). She took a deep breath, stood up, and walked to the other side of the table. On the floor beside the chair were shoes – black lace-up shoes – the kind Harry wore, and they were rather shiny, as Harry's shoes always were. She lifted the jacket from the back of the chair, and held it to her face, breathing it in. The jacket smelled of Harry …. his warm, rich and spicy, masculine smell. No other man she knew smelled quite like he did. _Where was he, and why had he left his jacket and shoes here?_

Ruth knew it was wrong of her, but when she felt the bulk of his wallet in the inside pocket of his jacket, she just had to take a peek. Harry was nowhere downstairs, it was late, and so it was clear that he was upstairs somewhere, perhaps sleeping, perhaps visiting the bathroom. She lifted the wallet from the pocket, and opened it. She'd seen this wallet many times; she'd seen him open it, and take out one of his cards to pay for meals at the George. She noticed that he had several credit cards – Mastercard, Visa, American Express – and a few notes. There was a slot for business cards, and then she opened a folder inside the wallet, the kind with clear plastic pockets, where a man can keep photos of loved ones. The first photograph was of two children, clearly his own. The girl was around twelve, and her hair was straight and blond, her nose long and narrow, and her expression serious, with just the beginning of a smile on her lips. She had her hand around the shoulder of her brother, and it was in his face that Ruth could see Harry – his thick and unruly blond curls, his dark eyes, and his pouting expression. It seemed to Ruth that Harry's son had not liked having his photo taken. There were no photos of his children as adults.

It was when she flipped over the photograph of the two children that she received the biggest surprise of all. Perhaps even more surprising than his coat and shoes being in her kitchen this late on a Friday night, was that the photograph on the other side of the one of his children was of her. It appeared to have been taken before she'd had to go into exile, given the blouse she wore, and the shell necklace – a style of dress which now seemed frivolous to her. She was smiling at someone off-camera, and she was pleased that Harry had chosen this image of her to keep. She looked relaxed and happy, and even rather attractive. In those days – her early days on the Grid – both Malcolm and Colin often crept around the place with cameras, snapping people as they worked. There were no other photographs in his wallet – just his children and her. Ruth momentarily wondered if Harry had put this photo in his wallet at the time she'd left to go into exile, and if, over the years, he'd forgotten it was there. Did he still look at it, and if so, what did he think when he looked at her image? These were questions she could hardly ask him without giving away her invasion of his privacy.

Ruth quickly closed the wallet, and slipped it back into the pocket where she'd found it. She returned to her chair, and continued to sip her tea, all the while contemplating the meaning of Harry keeping a photo of her in his wallet.

* * *

Feeling far too weary to be unpacking her bag, Ruth turned out the downstairs lights, and climbed the stairs to the bathroom. She checked the spare room, but it was empty, the bed unmade. That could only mean one thing. Carefully, she opened the door to her bedroom, and immediately heard the soft sound of breathing. As she moved closer to her bed, her eyes became accustomed to the dark, and she could see the lump of a body under the duvet on the side farthest from the door, and judging from his steady, regularly breathing, Harry was asleep.

_Christ …... what now?_ It was her bed, and intruder or not, she'd have to share her bed with him. She looked around her room, and there, folded neatly over the back of the armchair she often sat in to read, was a white shirt and a tie, the pale mauve one which Harry often wore. A pair of socks had been dropped randomly on the floor beside the chair. This was really bad news – or good, depending on which way you looked at it. The most he'd be wearing would be an undershirt, trousers and pants, while the least would be just trousers and pants. There was every chance he was bare-chested. _Christ! _ There'd been nothing in the MI5 manual to prepare an officer for what to do if you came home to find your section head in a state of semi-dress in your bed. There was no addendum under: **Special Circumstances D (c): **_**special field options**_ …... not that her own bedroom in her own flat was the field exactly, and even Ruth knew how disastrous she was whenever she entered `the field'.

Ruth knew she had few options – field or otherwise. She could sleep in the spare room, covering herself with a blanket, she could sleep on the sofa downstairs, which she knew from experience to be too narrow and uncomfortable to accommodate a decent nights sleep, or she could sleep in her own bed, where she belonged, where she had every right to sleep …... but next to Harry.

Of course she chose her own bed. Harry was asleep, and had not even stirred as she'd moved quietly around the darkened room, changing into a pair of track pants and an over-sized t-shirt, one which hung on her loosely, and fell to mid thigh. Normally she'd wear a nightgown, but she thought it prudent for her to wear something which hid her figure. Who knew what Harry had in mind?

Very carefully, so as to not disturb her bed companion, Ruth lifted the duvet, and slid under it, pulling it to under her chin, just in case Harry woke and looked her way. As much as she longed to snuggle close to his warmth, Ruth kept to her side of the bed, breathing slowly and quietly. Harry was lying on his side facing her, so she rolled on to her side facing the door, which meant that her back was to him. To Ruth's mind, if she couldn't see him, he wasn't in her bed with her. Despite her discomfort, and her heightened awareness of the other person in the bed, Ruth quickly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

She was woken by a movement close to her, and it was then that she remembered that she was not alone in her bed. She climbed out of sleep slowly, trying to ground her thoughts, deciding where she was, what day it was, what time of day, and whose arm it was encircling her waist.


	2. Chapter 2

Within seconds, Ruth's internal day, date, time, place locator had placed her in her own bed, and in the early hours of the morning after she'd returned home from the GCHQ conference at Havensworth, and the arm curled around her from behind – along with the nose and lips on the back of her neck, the knees beneath her thighs, and the rather prominent erection against her lower back – all belonged to Harry, and Harry was her section head, her boss, and the man she had loved for several years. Ruth breathed in slowly, and very carefully attempted pulling her body away from him.

Every movement she made to pull away was met with a countering movement from him, which drew her back against him, only tighter than before. She tried grasping his forearm, and removing it from around her waist, but he held her in a vice-like grip. Harry was much, much stronger than she was. She even thought of turning to face him, but that may be even worse, given his state of excitement. _God,_ she thought, _what if he's dreaming that he's about to have sex with someone …... If Harry and I ever get around to having sex, then I'd rather we were both fully awake, and consenting, as I'm sure would he._

"Harry," she said firmly, her hands on his forearm, "you have to wake up." She tried to turn towards him, but his arm around her waist prevented her moving. It was when he began pushing himself against her, a low moaning coming from his throat, that she decided that drastic action was required. "_Harry! Wake up!_" She hadn't raised her voice, but her tone was urgent, and she pulled away from him as she spoke.

His reaction was immediate. He pulled back from her, letting out a gasp, and then she felt him scramble away from her to the other side of the bed. "Oh, Ruth," he said, "I'm so sorry. Christ ….. why didn't you wake me?"

By the time Ruth turned towards him, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from her, his feet on the floor, his head in his hands …... the body language of a man who felt shamed. This was the very last thing she'd wanted. It was even a worse outcome than had they launched into some kind of sleep-sex. Ruth was suddenly overcome by compassion and love for him. Under different circumstances she'd love to have had him with her in bed. It's just that they hadn't planned this, and neither had expected to have happen what had just happened between them. She sat up, and slid across the mattress until she was kneeling close to his back. Trusting her instincts, Ruth leaned lightly against his back, and slipped her arm around his waist from behind. She felt him try to pull away from her, but she held on tightly.

"Harry …... you have to talk to me. We need to talk about this."

"I can't," he said weakly, his voice muffled by his hands. "I …... can't."

Ruth leaned her cheek between his shoulder blades, one hand resting firmly on his shoulder, while her other hand rested just as firmly on his stomach. Through her contact with him, she could feel his heart beating rapidly, along with his breathing, shallow and noisy, as he struggled to bring himself under control. "I know you feel humiliated," she continued, realising that she had to be in charge now, because Harry was not at his best, and would not be capable of making wise decisions, "but this isn't the end of the world as we know it."

Ruth felt him attempt to pull away from her. "I'd best go," he said.

"You can't go, Harry. You can't go like this. We have to talk about this."

Ruth slipped both her arms around his waist, and held on to him tightly until he brought himself under control. When she felt his hands find hers, and he laced his fingers through her own, she knew they would be alright. They stayed like that for some time. Ruth knew that Harry was a proud man, and a gentleman, and that he was judging himself far more harshly than she ever could.

"Why were you here, Harry? I know it wasn't for sex."

Harry shook his head a few times before he spoke. "This is going to sound pathetic …..."

"Try me."

"I missed you on the Grid," he said. He spoke quietly, but Ruth enjoyed the rumble of his voice as the sound tumbled around inside his chest. "I wanted to see you and to talk about my week ….. my …. my day – what happened yesterday - and to ask you about the conference. I tried ringing you, but your phone must have been turned off."

"I turned it off during the day yesterday – when I went to give my talk first thing in the morning - and forgot to turn it back on. I hadn't wanted to be disturbed, but had I known you were trying to get in touch with me, I'd have turned it back on. I'm sorry, Harry ….. and it's not pathetic that you needed to talk."

"I waited outside in my car, but it got late, and cold. I should have gone home, but I was worried about you, so I entered your flat. I still have a key. I made myself a cup of tea, and then …... I came upstairs to wait for you. I needed to keep warm, so I got into your bed. I hadn't planned on falling asleep."

"How much sleep have you had this week, Harry?"

He sighed heavily, and Ruth heard the intake and release of breath from his lungs. There was something very intimate about being this close to his heartbeat, and the source of his breathing.

"Not a lot. I stayed on the Grid last night, and two nights before that. I didn't see the point in going home." Again he sighed heavily, and Ruth turned her face towards his back, and kissed him on his undershirt over where his heart was beating steadily.

"I don't deserve you," he said quietly, leaning back so that he moved closer to her.

"Get back into bed," Ruth said. "I promise I won't try to seduce you."

"You know the strange thing? Were I to have tried to seduce you while awake, I don't think I'd have managed …... you know? I was so exhausted …... but asleep, I was …..."

"Ready for anything."

"Yes. I'm sorry if I frightened you, Ruth."

He turned, then, and for the first time that night, their eyes met – his were still shamed and pleading, while hers were forgiving ….. and loving.

"I wasn't frightened, Harry. I was ….. just worried that if anything had happened, you'd be embarrassed."

It was clear to Ruth that Harry wasn't about to leave, so she let go of him, and moved to her side of the bed, where she sat up against her pillow.

"You should take off your trousers, Harry. They'll be so creased if you wear them in bed."

So Harry stood up beside the bed, and removed his trousers. It was dim enough in the room, that as he turned to climb into bed, Ruth couldn't see very much other than the outline of his body against the dull glow of streetlights through the closed curtain. When he was comfortable, Harry lifted the duvet so that it covered them both to mid chest. Ruth reached across and took his hand in hers, and drew it under the covers to rest against her abdomen.

"I really should go home," he said, leaning back against the pillow, and turning his head to look at her.

"No ….. you shouldn't. We should both sleep some more. I'd like you to stay."

They talked no more, apart from some murmuring about the time, and about how soon Harry would have to wake. They each slid down in the bed, and with his hand still in hers, his knuckles against her belly, they fell asleep.

* * *

When Ruth woke, she showered quickly, and dressed in knickers, a camisole, and her bathrobe. Harry was still asleep, and she had no intention of waking him. She closed her bedroom door, and went downstairs to make herself a pot of tea and some toast. She turned on her phone, and was shocked to see that the time was 10.12 am, and Harry had planned to go to work early. _Well, they'll simply have to __do without him_, she thought. _He needs to catch up on sleep_, and for the first time ever she thought: _And I need him more than the country needs him_. She knew this was selfish of her, but just this once, she didn't care. She also suspected that he needed _her_ more than he needed to be at work. That particular thought sent a warm quiver through her.

Ruth tucked into her toast slathered with honey, and then as she sipped her tea, she thought about what to do next. When she'd decided, she put in a call to Ros Myers, whom she knew would be at work.

"Ros, it's Ruth. I'm calling to let you know that Harry won't be in today. In fact, he's still in bed asleep." Ruth had planned to say that, even though she knew how this would be taken by Ros.

"Ruth, yours and Harry's domestic arrangements are of no interest to me. I hadn't expected him in today. Not after yesterday. I'd already told him to take the weekend off, even though I'm not sure he heard me. He was still dazed and in shock after what happened."

"What happened yesterday?" Ruth asked.

"He hasn't told you?"

"No …... he hasn't, although he's been acting …... strangely …. even for him."

And so Ros told Ruth what had happened the day before, and it explained so much.

* * *

Ruth had finished her toast, and was about to boil the kettle to make more tea, when she heard the toilet flushing upstairs, and then the rush of water through the pipes as the shower began running. It was 10.47 am, which meant Harry had had a decent sleep. Now all she had to do was convince him to stay away from the Grid until Monday.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry appeared in the dining annexe, unshaven, but clean and fresh-looking, and dressed. He sat on the chair where he'd hung his jacket while he put on his shoes. Ruth offered him a cup of tea and some toast, and he thanked her. They ate in silence, although the embarrassment and awkwardness of the events which had happened through the night was no longer evident. While they were sitting over their tea, Harry asked her about the conference.

"It was good, I think, although I found a lot of it boring. There are only so many variations on mathematical encoding formulae, and after that it gets a bit repetitious."

"And your talks?"

"They were well received. It did my ego good to have the young ones trying to pick my brains afterward."

Harry smiled at her. "That's because you're brilliant, and everyone knows it."

Ruth smiled back at him, enjoying the closeness they seemed to be sharing.

"You were late home yesterday," Harry said carefully, not wanting to pry, but needing to know.

"Damien Flynn insisted he buy me dinner. He tried to recruit me, promising me a position in management."

"Again."

"Yes. He gets an A plus for persistence. I told him I'd consider his offer."

"And will you?"

"Of course not. I'm …. happy where I am. There's just the right level of challenge in Section D." Ruth sipped her tea, knowing she'd have to be the one to change the subject. "I rang Ros," she added. "She doesn't expect you in until Monday."

"I have a report to write. It's on …..."

"I know what it's on, Harry. Ros had already written the report. Under the circumstances, you shouldn't be expected to write a report on such a traumatic experience."

"That's my job."

"Not this time. Ros told me to tell you that should you turn up at work before Monday, she'll lock you out of your office."

"She wouldn't do that."

"She would, and you know that Ros is not one for making empty threats." Ruth took another sip of her tea before she continued. "Ros also told me what happened yesterday, and so I know why you came around here to see me, rather than going home. When were you planning to tell me about it?"

Harry lifted his eyes to meet Ruth's. She thought he looked haunted, and suddenly, all she wanted to do was protect him. Ruth reached out her hand, and placed it over the hand he'd rested on the table top. Using her thumb, she massaged the back of his hand, from his knuckles to his wrist and back again.

"Tell me, Harry. I need to know. I want to know."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thanks for the enthusiasm for this story. I wrote it a few weeks ago, and had forgotten a lot of it. There's more angst than I remembered there being. This chapter follows straight on from Chap 2.**_

* * *

Harry sighed heavily, dropping his eyes to watch the hypnotic movement of Ruth's thumb back and forth across the back of his hand.

"I don't even know where to begin," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Ros has shared with me the essence of what happened. Perhaps if you explain to me why you thought offering yourself as a hostage in place of the chief of police was a good idea."

Harry sighed again, turning his hand under Ruth's so that their palms touched, and without thinking too much about it, he entwined his fingers with hers. "The chief of Metropolitan Police has four children and two grandchildren …... and a wife. By comparison, I only have two children, one of whom barely speaks to me, and …..."

"And what, Harry?"

"And in my mind, I also have you."

"So …... because the police commissioner has more people who – we can only assume - love him, you stood in his place?"

Harry, weary from thinking about the previous day's events, nodded. He grasped Ruth's hand in both of his, so that her small hand was sandwiched between them. He watched their hands together so that he didn't have to look at Ruth. "At the time it all blew up in our faces, I wasn't sure there was anyone who loved me, or who would miss me."

"It's not like you to be self-pitying," Ruth said quietly. "You're loved by more people than you know."

"The worst moment was when Ansari pushed the barrel of the pistol against my forehead …... right here," he said, putting his finger against a spot between his eyes, but an inch or so above the line of his eyebrows. "I can still feel it."

"What were you thinking …... then?"

Harry let out his breath in a whoosh, and Ruth noticed the tears filling his eyes. He brushed the fingers of one hand across his eyes. "I was thinking …... I was thinking that while I was about to die, I wouldn't be able to tell the three people I love most in the world that I love them, and that I'd been so remiss with these three people. I'd let each of them down."

"Let them down? Are you talking about suicide, Harry? Did you offer yourself in the Commissioner's place in order to end it all?"

Harry lifted his eyes, and his face showed shock. "Of course not. I'm talking about shutting myself off from those I love. I'm talking about putting the job ahead of my loved ones – I've always done that, believing I had no other choice. I'm talking about wishing I'd taken the risk, and told my son I love him. And I'm talking about not being brave enough to tell you that I love you." He breathed out heavily, louder than a sigh, softer than a cry. Then he smiled as he looked at Ruth. "There …... I've said it, and the sky hasn't fallen."

Ruth smiled back at him, but she wasn't finished with him yet. "Ros said that Justin Juers offered to stand in your place. He offered himself to Ansari."

"Justin can be a bloody idiot sometimes. Why would they want him? He's a junior MI5 officer, and as such, he has no interest for Ansari. Waleed Ansari thought that taking the Commissioner of Police would grab the country's – the world's – attention, and I was arrogant enough to presume that taking me in his place would have a similar impact. Justin Juers is young, recently divorced, and with a baby daughter. I wouldn't have allowed him to throw his life away in just one low moment."

"As opposed to you throwing your life away in one low moment." Ruth's words were sharp, and her eyes hard.

Harry watched Ruth carefully, waiting for her to soften. She didn't. "I deserved that," he said.

"Yes. You did. Harry, I don't want you throwing your life away for anyone's cause, even your own. You're too valuable to the country, and you're too valuable to your children …... and you're too valuable to me."

Harry looked up at Ruth, and they held one another's gaze for a long moment …... until it almost hurt to maintain eye contact. Harry looked down at their hands before he spoke.

"I've had so much more happen to me than a gun being held against my head. I've been bashed, stabbed, shot at countless times, burned, electrocuted, left without food or water for days, so that I resorted to drinking my own urine. But never was I as frightened, as regretful as I was yesterday when I was sure I was about to die."

"What was different?"

"For the first time in my life as a soldier, and then a spy, I considered those I loved, and how I didn't wish to inflict my death upon them …... upon you. I've never before considered that there may be people who love me and who might miss me. Yesterday, as that gun was pressed against my skull, I realised for the first time how selfish I've been. Being heroic really is the domain of lonely, single men, and the truth is that I'm not really single, and I no longer have to be lonely."

Harry again lifted his eyes to Ruth's, and being unable to keep her distance from him, Ruth stood up, and moved to stand beside him. She lifted her hand from between his, and slid it around his neck until she brought his face close to her own. She hesitated, checking with him first, and then put her lips to his. The kiss was soft and warm and gentle, and neither wanted it to end. Ruth took her other hand and held his cheek, brushing her thumb over his stubbly skin, while she felt Harry's hands rest on her waist. She wanted to sit on his knees, and see where it led, but she suspected Harry had plans for the day. She lifted her lips from his.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" she asked him, to which he nodded.

Harry's hands were still on Ruth's waist, and he rubbed his thumbs in circles on the fabric of her bathrobe, his eyes seemingly hypnotised by the gaping of the garment at her neck, displaying quite a lot of her skin.

"I have some errands to run," he said. "My children. I need to speak to them …... before it's too late, and neither wants to speak to me. Who knows? It might already be too late."

"You'll come back here afterwards?"

"Yes," he replied, smiling warmly. "If you'll have me."

"I'll make us dinner, and I'd like it if you stayed the night, Harry. I think it's time we were more …... mature …... about things …... about us."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Ruth. I'll bring some wine."

Ruth sat down in the chair next to Harry. He noticed she was chewing her lip, as though unsure what to say next.

"Harry …."

"Yes?"

"What if you bring, not only a change of clothes for Sunday, but your clothes for work on Monday. That way, we can spend two nights together. I think we need that."

Harry nodded and smiled, before he stood up, gathered his coat, leaned down to Ruth to kiss her, and then left. Ruth sighed as the front door closed behind him. If she didn't keep herself busy, she'd pine for him, worrying about him and whether he'd still be coming back to her. She decided that she should unpack the bag she took to Havensworth, do some washing, and clean the flat. By the time she'd done all that, it would be time to prepare dinner.

* * *

Ruth had washed, cleaned, gone to the market for supplies, including some ready-made soup for dinner, and when she'd showered and changed into slacks and a jumper, she waited, not sure how long she should wait up for Harry. When he hadn't arrived by 9.30, she ate a bowl of soup with a crusty bread roll. When she was still alone at 10 o'clock, she tried ringing him, but his phone seemed to be turned off.

At 11 o'clock, she decided to go to bed. As much as she wanted to wait up for him, she knew he owed his children his time. She recognised more than most how readily Harry put the needs of the country ahead of the people he loved, and who loved him. She was not about to allow herself to feel jealousy or resentment because he was spending time with his children. She just wished he'd rung her to let her know where he was, and when she should expect him. She left the light on in the front hall, the pot of soup on the cooker, with a bowl on the table, just in case he came home hungry. Then she crawled into bed.

Ruth had only just relaxed enough to welcome sleep when she heard the front door open and close. She grabbed her phone from her bedside …... it was 11.32 pm. She lay against her pillow in a state of indecision. Should she stay in bed and wait for Harry to come upstairs, or should she put on her bathrobe, and go downstairs to meet him?

She was saved from having to make that decision by a knock on her bedroom door.

"Come in, Harry," she said.

Ruth sat up against her pillow, and turned on the lamp beside her bed. Harry entered the room, dressed casually in jeans, open-necked shirt, and leather jacket. Ruth moved her legs aside and patted the mattress beside her. He hesitated, but she smiled at him, relieved for him to be with her at last, and so he sat on the mattress next to her. He kept his eyes on her face in an attempt to stop himself from looking at the expanse of her skin revealed above her camisole, or even more compelling, the clear outline of her breasts covered by the thin fabric.

"I was afraid you'd be upset," he said sheepishly, dropping his eyes from hers.

"I tried ringing you, but -"

"My phone's battery died, and I hadn't a charger on me. Graham offered me his phone, but I couldn't remember your mobile number."

"You can use my charger. We have the same kind of phone. It's in the drawer next to the cooker." Ruth reached out to grasp his hand, and his face showed that he was relieved that she wasn't angry with him. She wanted to say, `I'm not Jane', but knew that would be inappropriate. Instead, she asked him had he brought clothes for the rest of the weekend and Monday.

"They're in my car. I had to first check with you that you still wanted me here."

"Of course I still want you here. Look where you are, Harry. You're the only man in quite some time to have been in my bedroom."

"I can't believe you're not mad at me for being so late."

Ruth sighed heavily, taking his hand in both of hers. "Why would I be mad? I knew where you were, with whom, and why, so …... what's there to be mad about? You're here now, so that's all that matters. Are you hungry? There's soup downstairs."

Harry shook his head as he stood up. "I'm not hungry. I had dinner with Graham. I'll get my things." He walked as far as the doorway, and then he turned to face Ruth. "I just need to be with you," and then he left the room.

Ruth lifted her knees close to her chest and hugged them. Maybe she and Harry could work something out after all.

* * *

Ruth stayed in bed, believing that if she got out of bed, they'd then take forever to get back into bed together. Her idea was that if she stayed there, Harry would eventually be forced to join her. He brought into the bedroom his hold-all and some hanging clothes – which included his clothes for work on Monday – and Ruth talked him through where he could hang them. He visited the bathroom to clean his teeth and wash, and get ready for bed, before he went downstairs to plug his phone in to recharge, to make them each a mug of tea, and then turn off the downstairs lights. Ruth was very relieved by Harry's degree of domesticity, and that he'd thought of something as simple as making them tea so that they could sip it while he told her about his time with his children. Harry was a completely different person away from the Grid. The automaton he often became at work fell away to reveal a complex and emotional man, and she loved the layers their time together was revealling.

"Were they happy to see you?" Ruth began, as they sat up in bed, each with a mug of hot tea.

Harry wore a pale blue t-shirt and a pair of dark grey track pants to bed. Both looked very well worn, and they revealled the shape of his body. As he'd been about to climb into bed, he'd looked up at her to see her eyes on his body, and he'd smiled to himself.

"I think so, although Graham was wary at first. I think he thought I was looking for some kind of big emotional reunion. When he understood that I was just wanting to make a connection with him, he was quite open to it. I took him to dinner, and then I drove him to where he works nights. That's why I was so late."

"And your daughter?"

"Strangely, she was quite hard to pin down. I ended up visiting her at home. She lives with some guy called Sean – a photographer – and I spent most of the afternoon with them. We didn't really get to talk much until Sean went out shopping. I think she understood what I was trying to say." Harry smiled as he looked across at her, her knees bent under the duvet, her wrists resting against her knees to steady her mug of tea. To Harry, she looked about sixteen, but he knew she wasn't. His Ruth was wise and patient and forgiving, and he thought himself to be the luckiest man in the world. "I told them about you," he said after a pause.

"About me? What's there to tell?"

"Oh, Ruth. You really don't know, do you?" Harry turned to place his half-drunk mug of tea on the table beside his side of the bed before he turned back to her. "You're extraordinary. You are the reason I went to see my children today. You make me want to be better ….. for you. I need to be better to be worthy of you."

Ruth felt Harry watching her, so she looked up to see him lean in as if to kiss her. She had already finished her tea, and put her empty mug on the table by the bed. She slid down in the bed as Harry took her in his arms to kiss her. Their lips parted to take in more of one another. The kiss was passionate, and yet Ruth could feel Harry being careful and holding back, like he didn't want to step over the mark with her.

"I need you to call the shots with us, Ruth. I want to make love to you now, but I'll wait ….. if that's what you want."

Ruth nodded, and then yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Am I that boring?" he asked with a smile, still leaning towards her, his hand on her waist.

"You're never boring. I'm just a little tired. If you can wait, that would be good. Right now I need sleep."

"I suppose I do, too. After last night, I'm surprised you're still prepared to have anything to do with me."

"Harry ….. what were you dreaming about …... last night?"

"You won't laugh?"

"No, I won't. I'm curious about what kind of dreams you have. It could impact on our relationship."

Harry leaned back against his pillow, and stared at the ceiling. "This is embarrassing. I was dreaming about us – you and me – and that you had decided that we should have sex so that we could make a baby. Your dream self said that it was the exact moment that conception could take place, and we had to do it _then_. That's why I was so insistent, and reluctant to let you go."

When Ruth didn't say anything, he looked across at her to see she had her hand over her mouth, stifling laughter.

"You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"But that's when you hadn't told me how ridiculous the dream was."

"Why is it ridiculous that we might one day want to conceive a child?"

Ruth noticed the hurt on Harry's face. The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him. He'd been hurt enough. She reached across and touched his cheek with her fingertips. "I just imagine that were we to have a child, it would be grow up to be a nervous, bossy, melancholic, workaholic public servant, and the world already has enough of those."

"I imagine a child of ours would be highly intelligent, compassionate, loving, perhaps melancholic, but only as a result of it being a deep thinker, and would have an enduring desire to make the world a better place. What's wrong with that?"

Ruth smiled at him, caressing his jawline with her thumb. "Put like that, I can't think of anything wrong with that, but we can't prescribe our children, Harry."

"I know that more than most."

"You sound like you want to have more children."

"I didn't until I began loving you. If we don't have any, I'm fine with it …... but Ruth, if ever you want a child, please come to me first. I'd love to see what we can create together."

"Harry ….. do you realise that this conversation has taken a weird turn? We haven't even had sex yet, and already we're discussing what our children might be like."

"I just thought I'd put my hand up for the job …... should you ever decide to go ahead with it."

"Harry ….. should I ever want children, you'll always be first on my list to father them." Only she knew that such a list would only ever have one name on it. There never had been anyone else for her.

They gazed at one another across the gap between them, both realising that the direction of their conversation implied a commitment to one another, something they'd each made, even if they'd not communicated that commitment to the other. Ruth leaned across to briefly kiss Harry.

"Goodnight, and sleep tight," she said. "The quicker we get to sleep, the quicker this will happen."

Harry grinned, and kissed her back, before nestling down under the duvet.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: The shift to present tense part way through this chapter is deliberate.**_

_**I have had to up the rating for this chapter.**_

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Ruth woke first, feeling rested for the first time in days. Looking across the bed, she saw Harry's sleeping form, his head peeking out from the top of the duvet, a look of total peace and contentment on his face. She turned her body so that she lay on her side, watching him, the man she loved, the man she had chosen to father her children. Mentally, she reviewed their strange conversation of the night before. She tried to imagine herself with a child that looked like she and Harry, a child dependent on both of them, and she couldn't. It was like trying to imagine a world with two suns, or no moon or stars in the sky at night – just too far-fetched.

Eventually, Ruth's bladder demanded that she slip out of bed and visit the bathroom. While washing her hands and face, she heard a noise from her bedroom. Harry was mumbling in his sleep. When she'd dried herself, Ruth went back to the bedroom, and climbed into bed beside him, where she lay on her side, watching him sleep.

His sleep had become restless, and it was clear he was dreaming. Harry began turning his head from side to side until suddenly his eyes opened, and he stared ahead of him, his face fearful. Ruth wasn't certain he was awake until his body relaxed, and he slowly turned his head to look at her. He stared at her for a while, before recognition dawned, and then he smiled.

"Good morning," he said quietly.

"Where have you been?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were somewhere that scared you. Tell me now before you forget."

Harry lifted his arm to cover his eyes with his forearm. Ruth countered that by moving closer to him, close enough to grasp his wrist, and remove his arm from his face.

"No you don't, Harry. You're not running away from this. I'm here, and you'll talk to me." She settled down beside him, lying on her side, her head propped on her hand. "So talk."

Harry took a deep breath, and then let it out. When he began speaking, his voice was quiet, almost a whisper, so that Ruth had to move a little closer to hear him clearly. She was close enough so that her knee rested against his thigh under the duvet. Just to provide reassurance by her proximity, Ruth moved one of her feet so that it rested between his. His feet were warm, and the touch of them on hers reassuring.

"I was dreaming about what happened Friday. Ansari held the pistol against my head, and then he released the safety, and then I heard a gun go off. Had I been paying clearer attention, I would have recognised the sound as the 9mm Glock 17 used by CO-19, as opposed to the .22 calibre pistol that Ansari was holding to my head. I opened my eyes and all I could see, all I could taste, was blood. I thought it was my own, and I began hyperventilating. That was when I knew I should have told you and Catherine and Graham that I love you. I waited to pass out, and I didn't …... because I wasn't the one who'd been shot. I looked down at my feet, and there was the body of Waleed Ansari - `The Voice of Jihad' …... self-appointed. Someone untied my hands, and I wiped the blood from my face. All down the front of my clothing was blood and brains – not mine, fortunately. That was about it. It was in that split second – that nanosecond in time – that I was conscious, but believed I'd been shot, and in my last seconds of life, my one true regret was that I hadn't told the three people I love most in the world that I love them. For that moment, I believed that I was dying leaving behind unfinished business, and that I'd never have the opportunity to say what I should have said long ago."

For the first time since he began relating his story, Harry turned to look at Ruth. He reached out with his hand, and held it against her cheek, and then he very carefully leaned across to kiss her. His lips were soft and warm, and they opened slightly in a question. Ruth opened her lips in response, and the kiss continued, deeper, and more intimate, until Ruth suddenly pulled away.

"What happened to your suit? Your clothes were clean when you came here Friday night."

Harry smiled. His Ruth, ever the practical one. "After a quick hospital checkup, I went home to change. Then I went back to work for a few hours, but I didn't achieve a whole lot while I was there. At around six, Ros ordered me off the Grid. And I decided that more than anything, I needed to see you. The rest you know."

"What did you do with the clothes which were covered in blood?"

"I threw them out. I suppose I could have hosed the blood off them, and then had them professionally cleaned, but …... there are plenty more suits where that one came from." Harry pulled away from Ruth, and sat up. "I have to …... er," he indicated the direction of the bathroom with his thumb.

"Go," she said, putting her palm over his chest. "I'll still be here when you get back."

Ruth could hear him in the bathroom, cleaning his teeth, and then she heard the trickle as he urinated, followed by the rush of water as he flushed the toilet, then the higher pitch of the water as he ran it in the sink to wash, and the gurgling as it flowed down the drain. He took his time, and when she heard the rattle of metal against the porcelain of the sink, she knew he was shaving. Dear Harry – he was smartening himself for her, presenting himself at his best. When he re-entered the bedroom, he looked fresh, and he'd even combed his hair. When he slid back into bed, resting so close to Ruth that she could almost see the freckles on his forehead, and smell the toothpaste on his breath, and the light spicy tang of his cologne, she reached out and ruffled his hair.

"I prefer you sleep-scruffy," she says with a smile.

It is still pre-dawn, but they'd both become accustomed to the darkened room, although sharp details, such as the exact shape of the logo on Harry's t-shirt, are not clear. It is in this pre-dawn dark that Ruth feels most comfortable, most brave. Were they to have turned on the lights, she'd be hiding under the duvet.

"Am I up to scratch?" Harry asks, nestling even closer to her, his feet finding hers under the duvet.

Ruth reaches out her hand and runs her fingers along his jaw, and his chin, and then to his lips. He opens his mouth slightly, and she draws her fingers around his lip line, and then into his mouth, where she runs her forefinger along the edge of his bottom teeth. There is an intimacy to her actions that thrills him, a frisson of pleasure rippling through his body, creating a knot of arousal in the pit of his belly. He is already partially erect, and they have barely begun their exploration of one another's bodies.

She is wearing a rather sheer white camisole, and he knows that were the lights on, he'd be able to clearly see her body under the material. He shivers as he conjures the image of her erect nipples pressing against the fabric. Harry runs his fingers from her shoulders to her collar bone, and then to the hollow in her neck. He is so aroused by this part of her body that he leans in and kisses her there, lapping her skin lightly with his tongue.

Ruth leans back against her pillow and sighs, and he follows her, his lips and tongue exploring her neck, her chin, her jaw, and then her ears. He's always loved women's ears – delicate, and yet functional …... Jane could hear a whispered conversation (when he had been on the phone to Juliet) from another part of the house. Yes, women's ears are superior, and worthy of his worship.

As he explores Ruth's ears with his tongue (and she quietly moans her response), Harry's free hand lifts the bottom of her camisole, and slides across her skin – to her belly button, down to the the waistband of her pyjama pants, and then back to her side, and then up as far as her breast. It is when his fingertips touch the underside of her breast (and Ruth takes a breath) that he lifts his head to look at her, to gauge her response. Her hands have found their way under his t-shirt, and she is gliding them gently over the skin of his abdomen and chest. _That's quite a lot of skin for her to cover,_ he thinks, smiling because he believes he has the better deal. _Give me breasts and smooth skin any day._

They spend a long time exploring upper bodies – bellies, chests, breasts, necks, throats, chins, lips, ears – and it is when Harry feels Ruth's hands lift the waistband of his track pants in order to hold his buttocks that he remembers why they are here. Touching is wonderful – delightful even – but they are progressing towards union, and that will be something worth having waited for. They have each removed their upper garments, and he has been overly occupied with Ruth's breasts, licking, sucking, kissing, when he feels Ruth's hands begin to massage his buttocks.

It is a long time since Harry has had a woman take time over exploring his body, and enjoying his body. His most recent sexual exploits – while Ruth was in exile – were about the destination, while the joy to be had in the journey itself was overlooked. There never seemed to be the time to pay attention to the more oft-overlooked body parts, such as the man's buttocks. It had seemed to him that the women he'd been to bed with during Ruth's time in exile were only interested in his cock and how soon he could put it inside them, and to be fair to them, he'd been happy to oblige. In contrast, Ruth is spending a lot of time rubbing her palms over the skin of his buttocks, and Harry loves her for it. He buries his face in her neck, and kisses her skin, all the time highly conscious of the movement of both her hands. It is when she pushes one of her hands down between his buttocks, and her finger gently massages the sensitive spot behind his scrotum that he lifts his head slightly and sighs heavily. _God, she's good._

Harry begins to feel his need for release building. He is already very hard, and so he pulls himself closer to Ruth, his body flush against hers. Her hands are now working at the waistband of his track pants, and so he pulls away to allow her to remove them. He helps her by pulling them off his body using his toes. He is now naked, and there is only her flimsy pyjama pants between them. She tugs them down, and removes them with her toes, pushing them to the foot of the bed, under the duvet.

Harry is overhwelmed. He wants to ask is she ready for him, but he doesn't want to sound crude, so he lies against her again, and kisses her. Ruth takes his hand and draws it between her legs. _God, how could I have overlooked that?_ He glides his fingers across her warmth, and then he feels her hand on him. She slides a finger slowly along his length, and then she grasps him with her whole hand, and begins to massage him. _Jee-zus!_ He pushes two fingers inside her, and when he hears her breathing deepen, he removes them, and her eyes open suddenly.

_Enough of this foreplay malarky. _

It takes only a moment for Harry to adjust his position so that he lies between her legs. _No fancy kama sutra positions for me_, he thinks. Lying face to face, they kiss deeply, and once again, Ruth's hands hands grasp his bottom.

"Harry …... _please_," she says, her voice pleading, as she lifts herself to meet him.

He slides inside her easily. He takes a moment while he consciously brings his own level of arousal under control. Were he not to, he'd be finished in no time, and only a selfish lover would be satisfied with that, and Harry is not a selfish lover.

They move slowly at first, adjust their movement so that they work with one another. Resting his weight on his elbows, Harry watches his lover closely, and occasionally kisses her, just because he can, just because her mouth is close to his own. They smile at one another as they move together. _Just like working with him on the Grid, only better,_ Ruth thinks, but decides to keep that thought to herself. After a time, Harry feels himself close to climax, so he takes Ruth's nipple and rolls it around inside his mouth, sucking on it, drawing it in more deeply as he feels his own orgasm building. It is only when he feels her muscles contracting around him, and her fingers pushing into the flesh of his bottom that he lets himself go.

Ruth cries out, while Harry breathes out heavily as they come, and when Harry flops down on top of her, Ruth cannot feel his weight at all. She is weightless, he is weightless, gravity no longer exists.

As they had been making love, the duvet had moved off them so that it exposes their bodies from the knees up. Harry lifts himself from Ruth, arranging himself to lie beside her, but still close to her, and then pulls up the duvet to cover them.

"Given that was our first time together," Ruth says, her mouth against Harry's shoulder, "that was ….."

"Bloody amazing," he replies.

"Yes. It was. Are you surprised by that?"

He shakes his head, and reaches down to kiss her, gently and chastely. "We've been working up to that for years, Ruth. Each time we'd glance at one another, every time our hands touched, or you brushed past me, we were building towards this."

Harry turns on his side, and puts both his arms around Ruth. She places her lips on his chest and kisses him at the point where two separate scars cross. "I do believe I love you too, Harry."

"Well, that's a good thing," he replies, smiling into the dark.


	5. Epilogue

_5½ weeks later:_

After she'd given the reading for Ros, Ruth returned to her seat beside Harry, the same place she always sat when they buried one of their own. This time it was different. This time she was sitting next to the man she loved, and whom she knew loved her. There were no longer secrets between them, no longer words and feelings unspoken. They had opened up to one another, sharing their fears and dreams. They were together – a couple – and others respected that, and left them to it.

As much as Ruth would have liked to take Harry's hand in her own, she didn't. The service was a solemn occasion to farewell someone who had left an impression on everyone she'd met. They would all miss Ros Myers, but none more than Harry. He had cried in her arms when he'd visited her at home on the evening of the hotel bombing. He had held it all together during the discussions with police and reporters, rescue workers, and the security service people at the scene. By the time he reached Ruth's front door, he was about to break wide open. She had held out her arms to him, and he had sunk against her. She had led him upstairs, and undressed him, as he sat sobbing on the edge of the mattress. When he was down to his trunks and his undershirt, she'd lifted his legs on to the mattress, and covered him with the duvet.

"Stay with me," he'd pleaded, as she was about to leave the room.

Ruth had turned, removed her boots, her skirt, and her blouse, and curled up next to Harry under the duvet. She'd stayed with him, lying against his back, her arm tucked around him, until he fell asleep, physical and emotional exhaustion having drained him of the means to stay awake. Ruth had then left the room, throwing her bathrobe on over her underwear, to put away the makings of the dinner she had planned, settling for a cup of tea and two slices of toast. She knew that Harry carried each death heavily on his shoulders, and his conscience, and Ros' death that day had been a harder blow than most.

He'd been in a deep sleep when she turned in just after midnight. She knew he had a lot to do the next day, although she'd wanted to grab his phone from the bedside table, and turn off the alarm, which was set for 6am. Ruth remembered having a troubled sleep that night. Each death of a colleague had eaten away at her, perhaps not as much as it had Harry, but it left her feeling disconcerted, as though she was being reminded that nothing is certain, and the future cannot be relied upon, no matter how well you plan it.

Harry had woken her at dawn, running his hands over her abdomen while he kissed her neck. She knew what he wanted. When death came to call, when one of theirs was taken, Harry needed to make love. It was his way of reminding himself that he was alive, and had something worthwhile to live for. The sex was rather frantic, but none the less satisfying for them both. He had thanked her afterwards, something she had to remind him that he had no need to be doing.

"I give my body to you willingly, Harry. You have no need to thank me."

"I suppose I'm thanking you for being here for me when I most need you."

"We do that for each other," she'd replied. "I do what I do because I love you."

He'd put his arms around her and held her close until his alarm had sounded, and it was time for him to step into the shower. Harry had put himself into automatic pilot for the next few days, because life had to go on, and terrorists were not known for taking days off.

When they left the church after the service for Ros, they had each expressed a need to talk with the other. Apart from their night together after Ros had died, they had had only snatched moments with one another, and they had not slept together. As they reached the fence which separated the church grounds from the neighbouring fields, they stopped, and Harry turned towards her, his hand resting on her back.

"I have an important suggestion," he said quietly, his face close to hers. "It's something to which I've been giving a lot of thought."

"Are you planning to tell me?"

"Ruth …... marry me."

She pulled away from him a little, chiefly to get a better look at his face. Maybe he was joking. It was not like Harry Pearce to suddenly, out of nowhere, suggest marriage. She had not expected this.

"Are you sure?" she replied. "It's been a difficult few days for you, Harry, and the funeral ….. you're emotional."

"I'm sure, and I'm serious about this. I want to marry you. Say yes, Ruth."

"Why?"

"_Why_? Because we love one another, and I want us to demonstrate our commitment to one another." Harry pulled away slightly, looking at her, his brow furrowed. "You don't want this, do you?"

"I didn't say I don't want to marry you. You've taken me by surprise, that's all. You've caught me unprepared."

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do. I've told you many times that I do."

"Is there anyone else who holds your heart?"

Ruth shook her head, wondering from where Harry had borrowed his flowery speech. His words were just a touch Charlotte Brontë, and not like Harry at all.

"Do you wish to live with me always?"

"Yes. I do."

"Then …... what is there to think about?"

Ruth sighed, and leaned against him, so that his arm slid around her waist, drawing her closer.

"Why the hurry? Why now?"

"Do you mean you don't know?"

"I have an idea, but you may need to tell me."

"Five days ago, Ros died, suddenly and unexpectedly, as did Andrew Lawrence. Next time it could be me …..."

"Don't, Harry. Don't say that." Ruth pulled away from him a little, and placed her palm against his cheek.

"Or it could be you. I don't want to miss out on a minute of my life with you. I don't want to spend another night in bed alone. I want all our nights from now on to be spent together, under the same roof, in the same bed."

"We don't have to be married to do that."

"I know, but I also want the world to know that we are committed to one another …... that this is not just some fling."

"You don't want to own me, do you Harry?"

"I don't even thinks that's possible. Of course I don't want to own you. I just want to love you, and to live with you."

Ruth reached up and kissed him gently. "Ask me again tonight," she said. "Ask me after we've had dinner at my house. I need a few hours to consider your offer."

Harry smiled to himself as he held her close to him, his arms around her waist, his chin resting on top of her head. He knew her well enough to know that she was about to say yes, but Ruth would never make an important decision like marriage with only a moment's notice. Oh, no. Ruth would think about it, weigh up the pros and cons, and then she'd say yes.

He'd ask her again tonight at dinner. By then, she'll definitely say yes.

_Fin_

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**_A/N: Thank you to all who have followed, read and reviewed this fic. _**


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